The house was beautiful, but incredibly large. Too big for one person.

It felt empty.

Lonely.

All night long you wandered through the large rooms, the long corridors, looking for a meaning, something that could give you compassion.

But there was nothing this house could offer but space and the echo of your own footsteps on the polished floor.

Heimdall did not come.

Almost every other hour you stopped in front of one of the many windows and threw a glance outside in hopes of spotting his magically glowing eyes.

But nothing. The streets were as empty as you felt.

Only when the night was already breaking on the horizon and the dark blue was replaced by dirigent colours did you manage to find peace in the bed, which was so large that it could have accommodated a whole family.

The pillows were soft and the blanket as warm as if it had been stuffed with the finest down.

The smell of freshness danced in the air, mixed with floral perfume and the sweet undertone of real flowers.

This could have been a beautiful place if it wasn't so deserted.

But you just couldn't find peace.

There was this worry in your deepest inner being. Thoughts ran through your head and made everything ache as if you had been struck by lightning.

You opened your eyes at the thought alone.

A ceiling covered with green tendrils and leaves stretched out towards you.

Sweat shimmered on your forehead.

All of a sudden you felt cold, shivered, although the first rays of the sun were already climbing through the window.

Swallowing hard, you let out a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut to force your mind to rest.

But it was impossible to fall asleep again. Your body demanded to get up and do something.

So you did.

There was no point in lying still and waiting for the darkness to swallow your mind.

Your eyes burned with fatigue as you pushed aside the heavy blanket and took the first step.

The floor was surprisingly warm. Almost as if the sun had been shining on it for much longer.

You frowned in confusion, but didn't give it another thought and began to search through the piles of clothes Heimdall had provided.

It was a little amusing how much Heimdall wanted to give, even though he always claimed he had no interest in any kind of relationship with other beings. Especially not lousy humans.

And yet he had not only been generous enough to provide you with clothes, he had also guessed your size correctly and provided more than a few shirts and trousers.

You almost felt spoiled at the sight of so many options, from cuts to colour and materials. Some even were leather goods. A fancy luxury for the common folks.

Obviously, he would never have admitted it but that was probably his way of taking care of others.

A smile made its way to your lips.

"How strange you are...", you murmured with a smirk as your fingers stroked the fabric of a tunic that looked suspiciously like the one Heimdall seemed to wear every day.

Curious, you lifted the piece of cloth to your eyes. A familiar smell reached your nose.

It was the scent of him.

Had he worn this piece of garment before?

If so, what reason did he have to leave it for you to wear?

Perhaps this had only been a mistake.

Gently you folded the tunic again and put it on the bedside table. It would be better to give him back his belongings as soon as he came to visit you.

Instead of dressing in something pompous or even impractical, you chose a simple cotton shirt, a pair of trousers that could have been yours and simple leather boots.

The soles were so thick that you could no longer feel the ground in the soles of your feet. Every step was as if you were wearing armour.

Your eyes looked around for your bag.

It hung over the chair in front of a small table by the window.

Quill and ink lay ready. But you could neither write nor read. It made no sense to offer you such things.

Only when you came closer did you realise that there was a slightly magical shimmer on the writing utensils. Almost like fairy dust.

Entranced by the unknown, you dared to reach out and touch the quill.

Immediately it twitched as if there was still life in it and danced around your fingers.

You had no idea what to do with this magic. But there was a desire that lay dormant in you.

Write for me, you asked the quill.

All of a sudden, it moved down to the barrel of ink, dipped its tip in and then paused over the blank paper.

For a moment you just start at the tiny feathers, how brown and white mixed and formed a pattern.

You had no idea what to write. You only knew that something was burning on your mind.

"Heimdall...", it came softly from your lips as if more than a whisper would change the meaning of your words. "I wish you would speak to me. Not everything is your burden to bear. With a sigh you dropped your head."

No, those were not the words you needed to say so badly. He already knew that you wanted to help him, he knew that you had no evil intentions.

And he had accepted that. Since last night it was clear that he allowed you to get closer to him.

But still, something bothered you.

It was like a dull voice in the back of your head, that knew something was about to happen.

You pushed the quill away and grabbed the paper to crunch it into a small ball and toss it out the window.

The quill returned to the top of the new letter it was about to write.

"I miss you.", you said and watched as the ink started to form lines that were called letters. "Please don't push me away. Whoever is coming, I want you to know that there is a way out. Before tragedy strikes."

As soon as you had said your final word, the ink started to glow golden. And with one more breath every single letter faded to shiny dust.